Ignorance
by pinkpuppy
Summary: Love: A strong feeling of attachment towards a select few. 'SERIOUSLY? YOU EXPECT ME TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THAT BLOODY BAST- ... TOAD." She glared at him, ignoring the children's shocked faces. For God's sake - it wasn't like she'd sworn in front of them!


From when we're young we've always been told of this thing, this special kind of magic: true love, fate. The stuff in fairy-tales, and all those stories where the princess ends up with the prince and it's just a whole big happily ever after? Like there's no argument _ever_ after that, and very rarely one _before_? They just meet one day, and its love at first sight, and this whole thing about how they have to get married when they only just met?

Yeah … Well, I don't really know about you, but personally I don't see any princes waiting for me to fall. And I highly doubt one day I'll wake up and my dad will turn out to be the prince or whatever. And all that singing with the birds, and the icky spiders and maggots? First off, I don't sing, and the chance of me holding a spider without screaming, are like, inexistent.

And we've all heard it – the clichés; love at first sight, knights in shining armour, the whole no arguing, the guy, who usually turns out to be a prince, always there to catch you fall. I'm talking about the happily ever after, fairy tale ending.

And I highly doubt there's a couple like that on Earth, maybe on some parallel universe, but not this one. So where did all of the fairy tales come from? I mean back in the middle ages, when the majority of them can be traced back to, it wasn't exactly great. I mean the men were always at war, some had a good couple of wives, and any soldiers coming back from battle were pretty much allowed to do _whatever_ they wanted in return for their service in battle, so woman were probably more in the mood to take a good swing at their men, rather than love them.

So seriously – true love? Real? Or a figment of our imagination, or perhaps a bad case of wishful thinking?

I'm not going to deny it, obviously everyone, including myself, has one day sat dreaming of it, wondering how it would feel to walk down the aisle and meet that perfect man – your one true love, you heart's true song – and you meet him at the alter and if your lucky everything goes perfectly. You say your vows, and go to your reception where everyone compliments you on your man-picking, and your dress, you go on your honey moon.

Then you come back, and there's issues like will we have children? Where? When? How will we be able to afford it? If we do, should I quit work so I can be with our child? I don't want to be one of those mothers who has to hire a nanny because she has a full-time job! And before you know it, you're in hysterics and your fighting. A couple of months later, your fat, divorced and on the market, which seems to have moved up a notch or two in standard since you were last on it. That … Or you just went up two sizes.

So you go to the bookstore, or maybe the library because after your divorce you're a little pressed for cash, and you get a couple of romances because, not that you _need_ it or anything, but you just want to make sure that you're not rusty on anything before your back on the market, which is now practically only filled with the gays, the married, the perverts and the touchy-feelies – and no one in their right mind wants them!

And before you know it, you're in your nineties, sitting in front of a TV and to get the remote you'd have to move from your lovely, comfortable seat, so you're stuck watching some sports game, with all your cats who just keep breeding with their brothers and sisters, but you just don't have the heart to give them away.

But you see a couple walking down the road, and your sprinting out of there, as fast as your walking stick will let you – who cares about your comfy seat! – and you're yelling down the street at them – who cares who hears, the more the better! - telling them to value their love or they'll … and you realise, with a sudden wave of realisation hitting forcefully – they'll end up exactly like you. A bubble of regret fills your mind, and a million 'what if's?' and before you know it, your running through your memories with _him_, thinking and pointing out _every_ mistake you ever made.

So you ring up his number at his house, and a woman answers. You speak with her and it turns out he died, years ago. You ask who she is, and with your last string of hope, you hope its not who you think it is – "I'm his widow." She answers gravely. "Who are you?" But the phone, clutched tightly in the clammy, sweaty hand, falls far slower than what would be expected to the ground, where your body meets it moments later. Yet with all the people you've distanced over the years, no friends or family who call at your house, the neighbours only begin to suspect days later and by then its too late for anyone to help you.

But, maybe love isn't meant to last forever, and its just a trial of character strength. Some people can cope with it, and some … don't.

My alarm clock sounded – it was time for school.

From when we're young we've always been told of this thing, this special kind of magic: true love, fate. The stuff in fairy-tales, and all those stories where the princess ends up with the prince and it's just a whole big happily ever after? Like there's no argument _ever_ after that, and very rarely one _before_? They just meet one day, and its love at first sight, and this whole thing about how they have to get married when they only just met?

Yeah … Well, I don't really know about you, but personally I don't see any princes waiting for me to fall. And I highly doubt one day I'll wake up and my dad will turn out to be the prince or whatever. And all that singing with the birds, and the icky spiders and maggots? First off, I don't sing, and the chance of me holding a spider without screaming, are like, inexistent.

And we've all heard it – the clichés; love at first sight, knights in shining armour, the whole no arguing, the guy, who usually turns out to be a prince, always there to catch you fall. I'm talking about the happily ever after, fairy tale ending.

And I highly doubt there's a couple like that on Earth, maybe on some parallel universe, but not this one. So where did all of the fairy tales come from? I mean back in the middle ages, when the majority of them can be traced back to, it wasn't exactly great. I mean the men were always at war, some had a good couple of wives, and any soldiers coming back from battle were pretty much allowed to do _whatever_ they wanted in return for their service in battle, so woman were probably more in the mood to take a good swing at their men, rather than love them.

So seriously – true love? Real? Or a figment of our imagination, or perhaps a bad case of wishful thinking?

I'm not going to deny it, obviously everyone, including myself, has one day sat dreaming of it, wondering how it would feel to walk down the aisle and meet that perfect man – your one true love, you heart's true song – and you meet him at the alter and if your lucky everything goes perfectly. You say your vows, and go to your reception where everyone compliments you on your man-picking, and your dress, you go on your honey moon.

Then you come back, and there's issues like will we have children? Where? When? How will we be able to afford it? If we do, should I quit work so I can be with our child? I don't want to be one of those mothers who has to hire a nanny because she has a full-time job! And before you know it, you're in hysterics and your fighting. A couple of months later, your fat, divorced and on the market, which seems to have moved up a notch or two in standard since you were last on it. That … Or you just went up two sizes.

So you go to the bookstore, or maybe the library because after your divorce you're a little pressed for cash, and you get a couple of romances because, not that you _need_ it or anything, but you just want to make sure that you're not rusty on anything before your back on the market, which is now practically only filled with the gays, the married, the perverts and the touchy-feelies – and no one in their right mind wants them!

And before you know it, you're in your nineties, sitting in front of a TV and to get the remote you'd have to move from your lovely, comfortable seat, so you're stuck watching some sports game, with all your cats who just keep breeding with their brothers and sisters, but you just don't have the heart to give them away.

But you see a couple walking down the road, and your sprinting out of there, as fast as your walking stick will let you – who cares about your comfy seat! – and you're yelling down the street at them – who cares who hears, the more the better! - telling them to value their love or they'll … and you realise, with a sudden wave of realisation hitting forcefully – they'll end up exactly like you. A bubble of regret fills your mind, and a million 'what if's?' and before you know it, your running through your memories with _him_, thinking and pointing out _every_ mistake you ever made.

So you ring up his number at his house, and a woman answers. You speak with her and it turns out he died, years ago. You ask who she is, and with your last string of hope, you hope its not who you think it is – "I'm his widow." She answers gravely. "Who are you?" But the phone, clutched tightly in the clammy, sweaty hand, falls far slower than what would be expected to the ground, where your body meets it moments later. Yet with all the people you've distanced over the years, no friends or family who call at your house, the neighbours only begin to suspect days later and by then its too late for anyone to help you.

But, maybe love isn't meant to last forever, and its just a trial of character strength. Some people can cope with it, and some … don't.

My alarm clock sounded – it was time for school.


End file.
